


I Can Never Say No To A Guy In Red Leather

by MissMoochy



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Casual Sex, Drunken Kissing, Friends With Benefits, Hook-Up, Jealous Matt Murdock, Love Triangles, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possessive Behavior, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Foggy is being pursued by a completely different red-suited hero to the one he desires. Wade Wilson AKA Deadpool is a wise-cracking, larger-than-life mercenary who won’t stop until he’s charmed his way into Foggy’s bed. Matt doesn’t seem to approve of Foggy's and Wade’s friendship and is downright hostile to the merc. Foggy can’t help but wonder why. Matt couldn't be jealous...could he?
Relationships: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

Foggy often wondered what possessed a person to move to a neighbourhood in Manhattan known to the locals as Hell’s Kitchen. Why did it have to be called Hell’s Kitchen? Why not Happy Friendly Bunny’s Kitchen?

He was walking home after an evening of working late. Matt and Karen had already gone home and Foggy had mock-angrily shook his fist at them as they put on their coats. Matt, bless him, had asked Foggy if he’d be okay walking home alone. Foggy didn’t find the question insulting. People might see him and Matt and assume that the guy with the cane and dark shades was the vulnerable one but the truth was that Matt could beat a guy to a bloody pulp with just his fists. When Foggy faced danger, his instinct was to run. Not that he could do that particularly well, either.

He kept walking, keeping his head on a swivel and his eyes peeled. Such a gross expression. Keep your eyes peeled. No, don’t get distracted. Distracted people make for easy targets. He’d almost made it home and hadn’t run into any muggers, aliens or Jack The Ripper types. Of course, there was still a chance, just before the finish line, he’d receive a clobber on the head and wake up in an ice bath with an eight-inch scar, but he was already imagining what it would feel like to walk inside his apartment, toe off his shoes and change into something comfy. Maybe those tartan pyjamas that Marci had said made him look like an octogenarian.

He was almost there, so close to comfort, to home, he could almost taste it. And then he heard it.

“Shut the fuck up, man! I’ll cut you!”

* * *

There was no convenient Daredevil to be seen flitting around the Manhattan skyline. Hell, at this point, Foggy would welcome Professor X roaring along in his wheelchair. Somebody, anybody who was equipped to deal with this sort of thing. But this was Hell’s Kitchen and it was his home, too. He had to help. No choice really. 

He ran towards the cry, and as getting closer, was aware of more sounds, ones that were familiar to him from his time observing Matt. The meaty thump of a fist hitting flesh. The hard smack of a skull hitting the wall. The wounded cry of a man who has just been --

Running into the alleyway, like an idiot, he steeled himself. “Get away from him!” He could see it, two men. One was on the ground, and his grey hoodie was already blackened with blood. Shit. The other guy was still holding the knife, a knife that dripped wet blood on the ground, oh God, that’s not, ugh, he really shouldn’t have kept snacking throughout his work because he’s not sure his stomach could hold its contents any longer.

The attacker wheeled around and his eyes darted around Foggy’s face, the ground, the mouth of the alleyway. He was thin, his pasty skin stretched over the bones with deep shadows under his eyes. His knife trembled in his hand and he surged at Foggy. Foggy threw himself to the wall but the man ran right past him, fleeing out into the night.

His pulse roaring in his ears, Foggy dashed to the man’s side. The guy was sitting down, his back against the wall, one hand loosely curled around his stomach.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m gonna call an ambulance,” Foggy peeled off his jacket and bunched it up. “I need to see the wound, can you lift your hoodie up? I have to staunch the blood flow.”

“No, no,” the man protested, but Foggy batted his hands away from his stomach. The guy was big, far bigger than Foggy, bald, and his skin had a strange, rough quality, the flesh of his hands, his face and neck, were scarred and pink. 

Foggy was trying to keep calm, despite the blood, and was relieved that his voice came out steady. “The guy escaped. We could call the police but I didn’t get a good look at him--”

The man shook his head. “Let him go,” He pushed Foggy’s hands away with more force this time and hauled himself to a standing position. Foggy leapt up and stared up at him. The man towered over him.

“Stop moving, I need to look at the stab wound--” Foggy said and they tussled a bit, Foggy trying to push his hoodie, the man trying to keep his hands away from it. Foggy grabbed the hoodie and yanked it up. The man’s midsection was as hard and muscled as the GI Joe’s Foggy used to play with as a kid, and the blood was already drying on the flushed, pink skin. But Foggy probed, feeling out the wound with his fingers, but running into no wound at all. There was rough scar tissue and muscled skin but no open cuts. He couldn’t understand it.

“You were bleeding…”

The guy let out a little sigh. He’d stopped trying to pry Foggy’s hands away.

“You were _bleeding,_ ”

“Uh…” It was distinctly guilty, that little cadence. It was the sound of a schoolboy who has broken a window. It had the same energy of the sound Matt had made when Foggy had unmasked him and discovered why his mild-mannered friend would walk into work everyday with mysterious injuries. Foggy couldn’t believe it.

“Are you a mutant?”

“Ugh, yes. You’ve beaten it out of me! _All of me, why not take all of me!_ ” the man sang. “I have a fast-acting healing power.” His voice was oddly peppy for a guy who’d taken a knife to the gut. But Foggy’s brain was still processing _fast-acting healing power._ One thing at a time.

“Wh-why?”

“Why? Why what?”

“Why do you have a healing power? Why not something more aggressive?”

The man blinked. “I didn’t choose to have it. They don’t bring out a book with glossy pictures and you point to the one you want!”

“Oh yeah. Sorry but if I saw you and was asked to guess your power, I wouldn’t say healing.”

“What would you say?”

“I don't know, fire?”

“Awesome!”

Foggy thought of Matt, limping in the mornings after a night of fighting. “Hey, can you take other people’s pain away?”

“No, just my own. You’re handling this well. Have you met other mutants?”

 _Crap._ “Ah, well, there are a lot of mutants these days. And Professor X on the news. Uh...news coverage. Meetings. Rallies. A lot of change.”

The guy nodded as if Foggy was actually making sense. Foggy realised he still had his hands splayed out on the guy’s rock-hard abs and he guiltily shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Name. Yours? I mean, sorry, what’s your name?”

“Wade Wilson.” Wade said and they shook hands. His hand was warm and rough in Foggy’s.

“Franklin Nelson but everybody calls me Foggy.”

“Aw, Foggy. Cute.” Wade grinned and Foggy blushed.  
  


* * *

It was Foggy who suggested grabbing coffee, citing that they needed sugar for the shock and Wade agreed. They found a greasy-looking 24/hour diner and Foggy ordered for both of them. He was pleased to find out that they both enjoyed sugary coffees.

Foggy found them a booth and Wade insisted on having the seat that was directly against the wall. Wade struggled to get his bulk in the enclosed space. They were the only customers besides an old guy sleeping in the corner. The tired-looking waitress didn’t bat an eye at Wade’s bloodstained hoody. 

“So, Foggy, are all the guys in the Kitchen as gorgeous as you or was I just lucky?” Wade said as Foggy raised his styrofoam cup to his lips.

Unfortunately, he said that just as Foggy was taking a large mouthful of coffee. Foggy spluttered, sending coffee spilling down his shirt. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Wade merely grabbed a handful of napkins from the napkin dispenser by him and passed them over. Foggy swiped at his shirt, not achieving much, but then Wade grabbed a napkin and started blotting his shirt. Foggy stayed very still, as Wade’s hand ran up and down his shirt. When the shirt was as dry as it was going to get, Wade dropped the wet napkins in a clump on the table.

“Thanks,” Foggy murmured.

The rest of the meeting passed by without incident. Wade was like Foggy, he was a talker. They both chattered on, barely managed to get a sip of coffee in between talking. Wade had a great sense of humour and they riffed off each other’s energy, making more and more obscure and esoteric jokes, referring inside jokes that had only just been born between them, until they were eventually just parroting memes at each other. It was only when Wade had leaned in, his leg knocking against Foggy’s, under the table, that Foggy realised that Wade had been staring at his mouth.

It slowly dawned on him that Wade was maybe flirting with him? He would have thought it was ridiculous but what else could it be? He wasn’t used to getting this kind of attention. Marci was the exception; She had hurtled through his life like a hurricane, tearing a layer of skin off him in the process. Women like her were in short supply, thankfully. This was something different. Wade seemed actually interested in what Foggy had to say. And he was happy to talk about himself, too. He told Foggy about cancer and sleepless nights and the easy solution offered by a shady company while he was at his lowest. He didn’t speak much of what went on in the experiments, and Foggy didn’t ask. He told him about how it had felt to discover you had powers and what you could do with them. That you could use them to help people.

It was nice to think that, for all his powers, Wade couldn’t hear Foggy’s racing heart. Couldn’t smell the sheen of sweat covering his palms. Couldn’t smell the adrenaline thundering in Foggy’s veins when Wade shrugged out of his hoodie, exposing two enormous biceps, barely restrained by a tight tee. The t-shirt was pale pink and said ‘ _I am 99.9% sure I am a Disney princess_ ’ in flowery script. Foggy smiled at the sight of it. Wade didn’t care what anybody thought of him.

“So, tell me, this Deadpool persona of yours. What does he wear?”

Wade grinned at him and reached over to pull the ballpoint pen from Foggy’s shirt pocket. He scribbled on a clean napkin, his tongue pushed against his teeth (weirdly adorable!), eventually finishing with a flourish and sliding the work of art over to Foggy’s side of the table.

The simple, line drawing was worse than some of the stuff Foggy’s infant cousins had scrawled on walls, but he loved it all the same.

Red and black leather. Huh. “Oh, wow. That’s a look. It must be a hit with the girls.”

Wade nodded eagerly. “The swords are a total pussy magnet. And the leather doesn’t scare off any dick either.”

“I’m sure,” Foggy laughed. So, Wade _did_ like men. Interesting.

Wade leaned forward and Foggy noticed for the first time that his eyes were brown. They weren’t the mossy brown of Matt’s eyes, a shade that held undercurrents of forest green. These were _brown,_ deep, chocolatey, so dark and pure that Foggy could see himself reflected in them. “Do you maybe wanna see what I look like suited up?”

Foggy waved the napkin. “You’ve already shown me!”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Wade said. He glanced down at his watch. “Ugh, I gotta go. But this was fun. Would you wanna meet again?”

“Uh…” Foggy played for time as he thought it over. On the one hand, Wade was fun and Foggy didn’t have a huge amount of friends at the moment. He had Matt and Karen and sometimes Marci, but work was a huge commitment that took a lot of time. He was always wary about bringing new people into his life because his biggest fear was Matt’s secret identity being discovered. He couldn’t bear it if he accidentally let something slip to the wrong person and his best friend suffered for it. But that wasn’t the only reason, was it? The main reason he didn’t pursue much of a social life was that so many of his thoughts revolved around Matt. Spending time with Matt, working with him, drinking with him, endlessly fantasising about him. What mere mortal could steal Foggy’s affection away from a man like that? Although now he thought about it, Wade had mentioned something about not being mortal, at all.

Wade was looking at him, that sunny smile was dimming, expecting a rejection. Foggy had to think fast. He didn’t know what the etiquette was about befriending a mutant when you’re already friends with one, but wasn’t the whole thing that they are people too and shouldn't be held to different standards than non-mutants? If that was the case, Matt would have absolutely no reason to disapprove of Foggy befriending Wade. His mind made up, Foggy reached across and clasped Wade’s hand and shook it.

“I’d love to,” he said and Wade beamed at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Foggy hurried running through the street, his bag thumping against his hip. He had to rush to make it to work on time. After his coffee meeting with Wade, he’d walked home and managed to sleep for a few hours before the sun rose. He was shattered but figured, once he had replaced his blood with caffeine, he’d perk up and be able to get some work done. The nice thing about being your own boss was you could sort of roll up when you wanted, within reason, but he had a mountain of paperwork waiting for him. Was this what it meant to be an adult? He wanted a refund.

He nodded at Karen and rushed to his desk, throwing himself in his seat. He hadn’t even taken his bag or jacket off when Matt wandered in, closing the door behind him.

“Good morning, Foggy.”

“Morning, Matt. Did you go patrolling last ni --”

But Matt had practically flown to his side.

“Dried blood. On your bag. I can  _ smell _ it. What happened? Did you hurt yourself?” Matt’s hands were yanking at the strap of Foggy’s bag, trying to wrestle it off him, presumably so he could inspect Foggy for injuries.

“What? No. Get off!” Foggy fended off Matt’s hands, although he could have kicked himself for  _ discouraging Matt to touch him. _ But it felt invasive to have Matt use his powers on him. Matt’s powers  _ were _ invasive, not like Wade’s. Even though neither men’s powers were their fault.

“Tell me what happened,” Matt urged and he was using that scratchy Daredevil growl, not his normal voice. Foggy rolled his eyes. He flung his satchel off his shoulders, trying not to think about gross, crusty blood.

“I saw a guy get stabbed last night. It’s not my blood. I tried to help him. He was fine, by the way.” The trick to working around Matt’s super-creepy built-in lie detector, Foggy had learnt, was saying statements that were true but didn’t leave themselves open for questions. It must have worked though, because Matt visibly relaxed, even dropped to his knees, resting his hand on Foggy’s knee. He felt warm, the heat was bleeding through to Foggy’s thin pants. Foggy sat very still, not wanting to do or say anything that might make Matt move away. He felt like he was holding a mound of birdseed, trying to coax a little wren into landing on his palm. Matt let out a breath.

“That’s a relief. I heard you walk in and I smelt the blood and I --” He jumped up seized Foggy’s shoulders. The damn idiot didn’t realise how strong he was, because he shook them and Foggy’s world spun. “You didn’t try to intercept the attacker, did you? Make a citizen’s arrest?”

“I don’t have a death wish, Murdock,” Foggy spat, shrugging off Matt’s hands. “He ran away as soon as I got there.” Which was also true. 

“What happened to the victim?”

“He was okay, he went home.”

“With a stab wound? He didn’t go to the hospital?” Matt said, aghast. Which was pretty fucking hypocritical coming from him, but Foggy held his tongue.

“He was built like a _ tank,  _ he can probably walk it off.” Oh God, he wasn’t drooling, was he? But his active imagination had suddenly supplied the last thing he’d seen of Wade. Wade walking back the way they’d came, his ridiculous t-shirt straining against his arms, stretching along his back. He’d thrown his blood-stained hoodie in a bin and his tight jeans clung to him like a second skin. Foggy barely even noticed the scars. When he’d seen him, his initial instinct had been to flinch, and he felt guilty about that. Once he’d got to know him, however, he’d been blown away by how funny and approachable Wade was and how he was surprisingly insightful. Wade hid a lot of his intelligence under a fast-talking facade, Foggy thought. He wondered if Wade would eventually feel comfortable enough around Foggy to drop the act.

“Okay…” Matt said, frowning hard over his shades. “Well, as long as everybody’s safe.”

Karen chose that moment to pop her head around the door and ask if anybody wanted a coffee. Matt wandered out, leaving Foggy alone. Which was better. Safer.

* * *

The day dragged on. Karen wanted to know all about the stabbing. Foggy didn’t want to divulge too much, fearing Matt could wheedle pertinent details out of him. Wade’s powers, for instance. So, he did what he did best. He talked. He prattled on about the crime in Hell’s Kitchen and despite the best efforts of the police, there is still a major problem in the district when you can’t walk down a street without looking over your shoulder. He deliberately didn’t mention the Devil. But he spoke about Wade, how the guy was a strapping six foot two (Wade had told him this when Foggy had asked about his height) and ex-military, how he had laughed so hard he’d made the table shake when Foggy told him a funny story about his cousin. How Wade had made Foggy laugh so hard, he’d cried and knocked the sugar over. As he went on, Karen’s smile grew and Matt’s lips thinned. Karen was happy, practically glowing, and she was happy _for_ Foggy. Foggy’s silly little crush on her had long since faded, and he was grateful that it hadn’t made things weird between them. He knew she was a bit sweet on Matt and he sometimes worried that she could sense his feelings for Matt, too. If she did, she never mentioned it. It occurred to him as he breathlessly described Wade’s awful t-shirt, making Karen squeal with laughter, that he hadn’t felt this jubilant for months. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed the thrill of winning a case or the easy, happy haze of getting drunk with Karen and Matt. But this, the joy of making a new friend, learning about them and telling your other friends about them. It felt good. In a weird way, it made him feel human.

Matt was clearly annoyed Foggy was wasting time chatting instead of working because he scowled throughout Foggy’s story. He interrupted him once, to say: “You didn’t tell me you went for coffee with the guy.” but offered no other observations. That was a relief. Foggy was concerned he’d ask difficult questions about how a man, even a big guy like Wade, could walk off a stab wound. But then, Matt often walked them off, himself.

Despite his and Karen’s gossip, Foggy managed to get some work done. When the evening loomed up, he decided to leave on time, not wanting to take another stupid risk by walking in the dark. As he was leaving, Matt stopped him with a hand on Foggy’s shoulder.

“Foggy...about last night…”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you see something, call the police. Okay? Leave it to the people who are trained to deal with this sort of thing.”   


“Why don’t you take your own advice?” Foggy shot back, pushing past Matt’s arm. Matt let him go and Foggy left. The last thing he needed was Matt’s condescending brand of  _ concern. _

* * *

The next day was a Saturday and Foggy was not going to work on his weekend,  _ thank you very much. _ He rolled over in his bed, hearing his phone buzz on the nightstand.

“Matt?” he mumbled into the screen, the light cutting into his eyes. He blinked a couple of times.

“No, this is Patrick,” said a smooth voice that was already familiar.

“Wade!” Foggy threw himself out of bed, planting his feet on the floor. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. Or at all.”

“I wanted to know if you were free to meet.”

Foggy pushed himself off the bed and hunted for his slippers. “Yeah, yeah, I’m wide open.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Wade purred down the line. Foggy sent a thank you to a God he didn’t believe in, that video calls weren’t yet the default method of communication. He didn’t need Wade to see his blushing cheeks. “Then allow me to fill your...schedule. I’ve got a cool idea for a day out and I won’t take no for an answer! I’ll pick you up, just text me your address.”

“No need to convince me, Wade, you already made the sale!” Foggy laughed. “See you soon!”

“Great. Bye, Foggy.”

* * *

Wade picked him up in a taxi. Foggy left his apartment, spotting the car outside. He could just make out Wade sitting in the back, waving his hands around, probably talking the taxi driver’s ear off. He smiled, trying to squash down the fluttery feeling in his chest. This was just Wade. No reason to act like a teenage girl going on her first date. They’d probably do what he and Matt would do, find a restaurant, get a bite to eat, maybe go for a walk in the park. No big deal.

“There he is!” Wade crowed as Foggy crawled in the cab. He buckled himself in and clapped Wade on the shoulder in greeting.

“Hey, you’re not wearing a suit! You look good.” Wade said as the car started moving.

Foggy laughed awkwardly, glancing down at himself. He might have spent a bit too long getting ready. He felt like he spent so much time in the office, suits were second nature to him now. Where was the free spirit from college? He’d turned his bedroom into a bombsite, sifting through hangers, throwing stuff around. He had no reference for how Wade was going to dress or where they were going, so he didn’t know whether he should go smart or casual. Although, Wade struck him as the sort of person to try and wear dungarees and moon boots to the Ritz. He’d probably find a way to make such an ensemble look good, too! He didn’t think Wade was taking them anywhere fancy, so he wore dark blue jeans and a black-and-white chequered shirt. He put a brown jacket over the top,  _ not  _ a suit jacket, an outside one. Corduroy. Maybe a bit old-fashioned, but he figured he could make it work. He’d washed his hair and briefly considered putting some product in it, but then thought that might be overkill. So, his hair hung loosely around his neck, curling a bit at the ends, still damp from the shower.

“Mm, the jeans and the shirt. You’re rocking the brokeback mountain vibe.” Wade said.

Brokeback Mountain? Oh, right the cowboy movie. The _ gay  _ cowboy movie.

“You look nice, too,” he told him. Wade was wearing a dark-red jacket, actually, it was chequered too but so dark, Foggy hadn’t noticed at first. The collar was was fleecy and the jacket was open, showing a tight white v-neck shirt. He was wearing jeans too. 

“Jeans and chequer. Twinsies!” Wade said and bumped his shoulder against Foggy’s.

Foggy smiled and wondered where they were headed.

* * *

Wade took him to a shooting range on Jamaica Avenue. Foggy couldn’t believe it but upon reflection, it made perfect sense. Wade was ex-military, of course, he’d like to shoot.

Wade must practice regularly because he was a dead-eye, hitting the target every time. He even bragged a bit, shooting the bulls-eye with his eyes closed. 

“You’re not supposed to do that!” Foggy yelled over the whizz and clicks of guns. Wade merely laughed.

Foggy’s aim was atrocious but Wade gave him pointers. He seemed so at ease here, grinning with his ear mufflers on, waving to regulars he knew. Gently correcting Foggy’s form. Foggy was relieved when he showed improvement and was actually able to hit the targets after a while. He’d never admit this to Matt, but he could kind of understand the thrill Matt received from boxing. It was fun to hit something, to use that animalistic power, that dormant, natural aggression. Matt often described the Devil as an entity separate to himself and Foggy believed that his friend relied on that compartmentalisation like it was a crutch. The truth was that the Devil and Matt were the same. They weren’t Yin and Yang or two sides of the same coin, because that implied that they could be separated. They couldn’t. The Devil had been a part of Matt long before the accident, Foggy thought. It was the redundant frustration of a lost orphan, the mentality of ‘ _ Why isn’t the world fair _ ’ and the God complex to think ‘ _ I’ll  _ **_make_ ** _ it fair. _ ’

He could have stayed there all day, but his stomach started growling around noon, and Wade gestured for them to stop. Wade took him to a pub, and they ate and drank, both choosing to have a burger and fries. Wade asked for cajun fries and gave half of his to Foggy. Foggy deposited half of his regular fries to Wade’s plate. They both drank a few too many beers and when they were leaving, Wade threw an arm around Foggy’s shoulders and they walked around for a while, before making it to a nearby taxi rank, their bodies still connected.

* * *

The taxi pulled up outside Foggy’s flat and Foggy sighed. The sun was setting, casting a pretty amber glow on the horizon but the city was still buzzing with noise. They both got out of the car, Wade requesting that the driver stay there for a few minutes. The car was still on the meter, but Wade apparently didn’t care about the cost. He’d paid for the fee at the shooting range and even paid for their meal at the pub, refusing to let Foggy offer anything for it. But Foggy was a lawyer and a good one at that, so after some negotiation, Wade had allowed him to pay for the tip.

“I had a great time, Wade. I think this was exactly what I needed.”

“You know what? Me too. You take care, you hear me? Don’t go running in any more alleyways and talking to strange men!”

“ _Y_ _ ou’re _ a strange man?”

“The strangest,” Wade grinned and he swept him up in an enormous bear hug, two, crushing-hard arms encircling Foggy’s chest. It was like being held by a living statue. Foggy knew he gave good hugs and he made sure this was one of his best ones, sinking into it, sliding his hands up to splay his fingers on Wade’s back. Wade smelt incredible, something earthy and unique, like metal and leather, with a hint of smoke. He was sure Matt would be able to pick out a lot more scents than him, with his sensitive nose and -- no. Don’t think about Matt. He poured everything into that hug, pulled Wade in close, and Wade  _ let him _ . He didn’t shy away or make excuses or even frown, he  _ let _ Foggy hold him close. And  _ he _ pulled  _ Foggy  _ closer. It was Foggy who broke off first, sensing the taxi’s meter must be climbing up to eye-watering figures, and he smiled up at Wade and straightened his friend’s collar.

“I should go. My bed is calling to me. But I’d like to see you again?”

“Me too. I’ll be in touch.” Wade said softly and he climbed in the taxi and pulled the door closed. Foggy waved as the car pulled away. He kept watching until it had disappeared around the corner and was gone.

* * *

Foggy slept, dreams of red leather and brown eyes filling his mind. He didn’t sleep for very long, because something was working its way through his dreams, a repetitive tapping, like the ticking of a clock. He awoke with resistance, blinking back sand and muttering what almost was human speech. It was only when he stood up out of bed, that he realised the sound was knocking, knuckles rapping on glass.

Matt.

Matt (in his kevlar) was outside Foggy’s window and Foggy hurriedly let him in. It was immediately obvious that he was injured, one arm was curled around his side, and as he made his way to Foggy’s bed, he didn’t straighten up once. He felt for the mattress with his hands and perched on the end, still keeping one hand clamped to his flank.

“What’s wrong? You’re hurt, aren’t you?” Foggy asked him, his voice roughened by sleep.

“Took a knife. Shallow. Bandaids?” Matt panted.

“Right, right, yes, bandaids, uh, coming right up!” Foggy rushed to fetch his first aid kit, and when he’d returned, Matt was disassembling his suit, throwing the top half on the bed. Foggy only had eyes for the injury. It was a red smear across Matt’s white flesh, ugly, wet, shiny, framed by the crisscrossing white scars from previous fights. Foggy hadn’t switched the main light on so was only working from the glow of the map. He didn’t want to leave Matt for a second, so he worked in near-darkness. Disinfecting the wound, applying bandages, wrapping them around Matt’s torso. 

“It’s not that deep,” Matt said brightly. “I can finish my patrol.”

“No way, you’re not going anywhere, buddy-boy. You’re staying right here until the only red I can see is the red of your suit.”

Matt huffed out an impatient breath, but he obeyed. He even removed his helmet, to Foggy’s relief. He hated speaking to him when he was wearing that thing. He was very aware of how it was a symbol of fear for many people in the city. And the horns were stupid.

“I’ve stopped bleeding,” Matt said, after some time. “I can’t smell any more fresh blood.”   


“Good,”

Matt was still sniffing though, an adorable little wrinkle of his nose that had no place being on the face of a violent mutant. It made Foggy think of a puppy smelling food, not that he would ever tell Matt this. “You met him again, then,” he said.

Foggy wondered what he meant for a moment, but then it dropped: Wade. Matt had smelt Wade’s blood on his satchel the day before, and some of Wade’s natural scent must have lingered. And now, Foggy had spent all of Saturday with him and had shared a long, close embrace with him to top it off. Foggy had been crushed against his chest (another dumb mutant not knowing his strength!) but he hadn’t minded. Wade was so warm, and when Foggy had leant against him, he could feel his heart thundering in his chest. The galloping heartbeat and Wade’s muscle-bound body made him think of an enormous carthorse, this huge, powerful body that had the potential to do damage if the creature desired.

There must be traces of something, Wade’s cologne maybe, still hanging around Foggy’s skin and hair.

“Yeah, we spent the day together,” Foggy explained.

“The day? Where did you go? What did you do?”

“Uh, we went to a shooting range and then we had lunch. Then we walked around for a bit and he took me home.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up at  _ took me home. _

“He got us a taxi and it dropped me off here.” Foggy clarified. Matt’s eyebrows dropped to their usual place (just low enough to be brooding) but his face still looked as if he’d sucked a lemon.

“Shooting range? You hate guns.”

“I hate _violence._ I hate _bad people_ with guns. I hate the current climate where people need to have a gun in their home in order to feel safe. Guns are just objects, Matt. Objects aren’t evil.”

“But violent people are.”

“Depends on what you mean by violence. It’s late, Matt.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the bandages,” Matt said. He stood up and grinned. “And the bedside manner.” He worked his way back into the armoured shirt of his costume.

Foggy picked up Matt’s mask and went to pass it to him, but Matt abruptly threw his arms around Foggy, holding him tight. Foggy froze, but his brain was screaming. They hadn’t hugged like this since college. He didn’t know what to do with his arms so he settled for awkwardly clapping Matt on the back. Matt was running his hands over Foggy’s hair, his head and nape, and down to his shoulders, a strange gesture, rubbing his palms over him.  _ He’s marking his scent, _ Foggy realised dizzily.  _ He’s trying to overwrite Wade’s scent on me. _

It ended as abruptly as it started, Matt released him and muttered something about needing to get back to patrol. He snatched his mask out of Foggy’s fingers and threw himself out of the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought in the comments! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked this, I'm really excited to know how it will be received because I'm new to this fandom! I love Wade and Foggy so much, I had to write them meeting.


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